


Understanding Things Slowly

by tastewithouttalent



Category: Soul Eater, Soul Eater Not!
Genre: Awkward Conversations, Developing Relationship, First Kiss, First Time, Flirting, Fluff, M/M, No Plot/Plotless
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-28
Updated: 2014-05-01
Packaged: 2018-01-19 16:08:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1475857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tastewithouttalent/pseuds/tastewithouttalent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Clay keeps getting halfway into a sentence before his brain catches up and realizes Akane is teasing him, again, and he loses his train of thought in a self-conscious blush." There was a time when Clay could make it through a whole day without blushing. Then he met Akane.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Flustered

It’s sometime in the middle of day two at the Academy that Clay decides, in the quiet of his own mind, that Akane is very  _uncomfortable_  to be around. It’s not that the other boy lacks social grace, or is stiff and silent, or has a mean streak. Nothing like that. Clay can look at the other students around them and determine that they are at least five people who he’d rather  _not_  be with, and Akane’s  _fine_ , he’s perfectly friendly and perfectly competent and really pretty attractive, although rationally that has nothing to do with it,  _obviously_  it doesn’t, but it’s a nice benefit.

The problem is that Akane seems  _aware_  of all this, on some level, and along with everything else Akane is  _very_  good at teasing. Clay doesn’t think of himself as stupid, but he is a little slow to pick up on trains of thought, there’s always a moment of delay while he processes whatever his conversational partner is saying, so he has to take interactions a little carefully. Akane definitely does  _not._  He’s always talking, spilling words out over his tongue as easily as breathing, and Clay keeps getting halfway into a sentence before his brain catches up and realizes Akane is  _teasing_  him,  _again_ , and he loses his train of thought in a self-conscious blush. This is, of course, where the attractiveness comes in, because it just  _further_  delays Clay’s responses, and after the first day Akane picks up on this, starts infusing everything he says with a purring resonance until Clay’s not sure if everything he is saying is actually a double entendre or if it just  _sounds_  that way.

At least the meister shuts up in class, mostly, even if he’s always about an inch closer than Clay thinks is reasonable, even if Clay keeps catching him watching the weapon out of the corner of his eye and smirking when Clay flushes red in response. And it’s not so bad at their apartment, when Clay can always retreat to his room and the self-consciousness of being in public has faded off a bit. But that still leaves the times  _between_  classes, when Akane leans in close to Clay’s ear so he can maintain a low murmur and still be heard over the buzz of fellow classmates, when Akane’s fingers bump against Clay’s until Clay starts to wonder if the meister is actually going to take his hand or just keep taunting him with the possibility. Worst of all, Clay’s not even sure all this is really happening, if Akane  _is_  trying to flirt him into the first ever heart-attack-by-embarrassment or if he’s just being a little overly friendly and Clay’s own self-awareness is leading him to overreaction. Even if he  _is_  flirting, it might just be to get a reaction out of Clay, not from any  _real_  interest; there’s no way to  _know_ , not for sure, and Clay is starting to feel like his usually-steady nerves are going to fray right apart under the strain.

He’s thinking about this when they get out of class, Clay leading the way and trying to walk fast so Akane won’t do what he usually does, and which he does anyway, which is come in close enough that their shoulders bump before reaching out to touch the rolled-up cuff of Clay’s shirt.

“This isn’t a standard uniform,” the meister points out. His fingers are hot on Clay’s skin when his ring finger maybe-accidentally drags against the inside of the weapon’s elbow. “Do you usually go around half-dressed like this or is it just for me?”

Clay’s face heats even before he can compose a stammering response, keeping his eyes in front of him so he doesn’t have to face the teasing sparkle in the meister’s eyes. “I. No. I’m dressed.”

 _You sound ridiculous_. He takes a breath, tries to ignore the way it catches in his throat. He would swear he can  _hear_  Akane starting to smile next to him. “It’s more comfortable this way.”

“Is it.” Akane sounds like he’s laughing though Clay has no idea what he has said to cause it, other than the fact that he can barely speak at all.

“Yeah.” His words are coming faster, now, trying to explain his point before Akane can come up with something to stall him again. “It’s not all that comfortable to begin with, anyway. I take it off as soon as I get back home.”

“You’ll have to invite me next time,” Akane says. They take another few steps before Clay has entirely processed the implications of the meister’s words, but Akane’s fingers are still lingering against Clay’s arm by the time awareness hits. Clay makes a strangled sound as he tries to blush over every inch of his body at the same time, nearly stumbles as his coordination vanishes.

“Oh my god,  _Akane_ ,” he protests, involuntarily hunching his shoulders up in an attempt to hide his blush. “Why do you  _tease_  me so much?”

The fingers resting on his arm turn into a hold, pull him back around even as Akane is saying “Stop” and Clay’s feet are halting of their own accord. The meister is smirking when Clay gets around to looking at him, his chin tipped down so he’s looking up through his eyelashes at the blond, and that’s as far as Clay gets before Akane leans in. Something hits Clay’s lips, something warm and soft, and Akane’s so close that his hair is tickling Clay’s nose and his shoulder is bumping up against Clay’s collarbone, they’re  _very_  close and Clay can feel Akane breathing and Akane is  _kissing_  him. He makes the connection just in time for his eyes to go wide as Akane pulls away, lips still curved in amusement even as he takes a half-step back.

The crowd is parting around them, students engrossed in their own conversations barely glancing at the two of them. The sunlight streaming into the hallway is just as bright and hot as it always is and Akane is still grinning at him, there’s no trace of self-consciousness in his face. It’s like the whole world thinks this is no big deal even as Clay’s body tries to figure out how breathing works and if the rush of adrenaline now swamping his blood is needed or not. Clay’s exhale sounds a little like a question and a lot like a whimper. He doesn’t think he’s blinked properly in several seconds and he  _knows_  his mouth is open in shock.

Akane laughs aloud. There’s a flash of white teeth against his lips and then his fingers come up to touch Clay’s cheek. The burst of heat they generate is so strong Clay would flinch away if his surprise hadn’t temporarily made him into a living statue.

“You’re so cute when you’re flustered,” Akane says. The hand against Clay’s face drops to his tie and Akane tugs gently on it before dropping his hold and turning away. “Come on, Clay.”

Clay starts moving, obedient to the order before he can remember how to act. Luckily Akane keeps his back to the weapon the whole way to their next class, so Clay doesn’t have to worry about whether he’s gaping or glaring at the meister’s back since there’s no one to see his reaction.

The problem, really, is that when Clay thinks about it, there’s no one else in the class he would  _rather_  have as his partner than Akane.


	2. Serious

Akane doesn’t plot it in advance. From the way Clay eyes him, he’s pretty sure the  _weapon_  thinks he does, but while Clay’s faith in Akane’s budding abilities as a mastermind is amusing and somewhat flattering, in actual fact Akane planned very few of the events that led them to this odd almost-something they have. It’s barely extant at all; it only breathes in the corner of Akane’s awareness, only continues to exist because he is deliberately avoiding the subject and Clay is too awkwardly self-conscious about it to bring it up himself. So it keeps living, carefully, in the spaces they’re not filling in, and it keeps growing, until Akane is so used to not-seeing it that he almost calls Clay his boyfriend instead of his weapon, when asked.

So it’s perfectly normal, in the weird pseudo-normal they’ve constructed between themselves, for Akane to have Clay down a mostly-unused corridor at the Academy, for Clay’s broader shoulders to be flat against the wall at his back, for Akane’s mouth to be hot against the inch of skin just under Clay’s ear. The weapon is breathing hard, panting and whimpering with almost-voiced protests, but they’re not voiced, not yet, and when Akane lifts his head and comes back in for the blond’s mouth Clay turns to meet him, parts his lips so his tongue can slip slick against Akane’s even before the meister has entirely sorted out his angle. They’re both fully dressed -- Akane hasn’t started anything at home yet and is only willing to go so far at school -- but Clay’s lack of jacket and rolled-up sleeves leave the whole expanse of his forearms for Akane to slide his hands up, and his open tie and loosened collar make it easy for Akane to fit his own narrow fingers down under the fabric to stroke along the top inch of Clay’s shoulders.

That makes the blond shudder, and that’s another thing -- fully dressed doesn’t mean  _separate_ , not right now, because Clay’s got the wall against his back and Akane against his front and the meister can feel the shiver run all through his body, tremble through his hands and his chest and his lips. Akane has to pull back to grin, although he dips his fingers down Clay’s shirt another inch to compensate.

“Next time I’ll do this at home,” he manages, delighted laughter bleeding into his tone along with the breathless pleasure of Clay up against him, Clay’s skin under his fingers and Clay’s legs tangled with his and Clay’s mouth there for the taking. “Public decency is less of an issue in private.”

Clay drops his head back against the wall, and Akane is leaning in to kiss against the line of his bare throat before he takes in the weapon’s words.

“I can’t ever tell if you’re serious,” he groans, and it sounds strained from the angle of his throat but a lot more bad-frustrated than good-frustrated.

Akane hesitates for a moment. Clay can’t see his face, with his head tipped up, so he doesn’t see the flicker of shock that burns in his eyes, the brief crease of confusion in his forehead before he comes in to complete the paused movement. Clay shivers under the contact, Akane can feel the vibration of an unvoiced moan under his lips, but for once it’s not an entire distraction from the meister’s own thoughts.

He forces a laugh, makes his voice as light as he can manage. “I’m  _always_  serious, Clay.” He further undermines this by sighing warm over Clay’s throat, reaching up to catch his fingers around the back of the blond’s head to draw his mouth down for a kiss. “How little you know me to have any doubts at all.”

“You’re doing it again.” Clay is laughing, the sound cutting off under Akane’s mouth, and his hands come up to brush against the meister’s back, but they’re hesitant, Akane realizes, they’re  _been_  hesitant this whole time,  _every_  time, even while he’s been doing his utmost to undress Clay with his fingertips and grind the other boy into the wall. “I can’t tell if you’re teasing me or…”

 _Into me_ , Akane’s mind finishes, but Clay doesn’t actually voice the alternative, like he’s too shy or --

 _Too uncertain_. And that’s what it is, that’s what it’s been all this time, Clay thinks Akane’s  _teasing_  him, but Akane’s been at this for a  _week_  now, how could he…

Akane can’t keep up the light banter he’s been managing, not with his thoughts bursting into realization. He drags his fingers back up Clay’s shoulders, comes in for another kiss and another carefully deliberate smile.

“I told you,” he purrs, shifting his weight against Clay’s so the weapon whines in another almost-protest that is just on this side of aroused instead of angry. “I’m always serious.” He leans in close, licks the outside edge of Clay’s ear. “Next time I’ll do this in private.”

He lets him go, then, steps back quick and clean, pulls his cuffs straight and smooths his hair while Clay is still panting against the wall and offering a  _very_  belated glare in the meister’s direction. Akane smirks in response, gestures for Clay to stand up straight. Once the blond is on his feet Akane steps forward, straightens his loose tie and refolds his collar while raising an eyebrow and offering, “You know, people are going to think you were  _up_  to something if you go back like this.”

“You…” Clay sputters, but he has nothing, never quite manages a proper response, and his blush of self-conscious embarrassment is almost enough for Akane to undo his efficient tidying all at once. “You’re so  _mean_  to me, Akane.”

It’s a whine, pained and confused, but when Akane smiles Clay’s eyes go soft, even if his frown lingers.

“I know.” Akane tips his head, drops as much saccharine over-sincerity into his voice as he can manage. “I’m  _sorry_ , Clay.”

Clay grumbles in response, offers Akane a glare that is approximately as threatening as an angry kitten, and leads the way down the hall. Akane follows, still grinning, but his thoughts are working overtime behind his glasses.


	3. Direct

Clay was just starting to get used to Akane’s constant emotional pressure.

It’s been driving him insane for days. There’s no  _pattern_  to it, is the problem, or if there is it’s too complex for Clay’s frazzled brain to pick apart from the data he’s receiving. One day Akane went almost the whole day without touching him, although that didn’t stop him from  _looking_ , and then just as they were leaving their last class he leaned in and dropped a kiss at the corner of Clay’s mouth, quick and delicate and with absolutely no context that Clay could see. Another day they were barely inside the Academy before Akane closed his fingers around Clay’s wrist and backed him up into a wall to slide his tongue against the weapon’s and curl his fingers tantalizingly just over the edge of Clay’s pants, not quite crossing over into indecent but close enough that Clay’s teenage body morethan took the hint. Then there’s all the cases in between, when Akane leans into him for an entire class period or breathes something totally innocuous into Clay’s ear with so much promise in his voice that Clay drops his bag and can’t pay any attention to the  _words_  for the  _implication_. It’s insane and it makes no sense and Clay’s still not sure if Akane is flirting with him or teasing him or both, and even so sheer repetition for days in a row has left him almost accustomed to it, the constant chaos of what-will-Akane-do and the constant edgy readiness for an innuendo delivered perfectly calmly or an utterly ordinary comment delivered  _dripping_  with suggestion, or the brush against his skin of a kiss or a touch or a  _lick_ , on one memorable occasion.

Because the worst is Clay’s starting to  _adjust_  to the total unpredictability of his meister. Even earlier today, Akane had him against a wall, breathing hard against Clay’s throat and sliding his fingers down against Clay’s neck, and even if it  _is_  just teasing it felt  _really_  good, so Clay feels a little physically bereft as much as mentally confused by the sudden distance Akane puts between them for the rest of the day. It’s not that the meister is going far, really, but he doesn’t accidentally-on-purpose brush Clay’s hand with his, and he doesn’t grin when Clay catches him looking at the weapon, and even when Clay  _does_  catch him Akane’s not looking at him like he usually does, with smoke and suggestion in the dark blue of his eyes. His forehead is a little tighter, like he’s thinking over a difficult problem, and Clay doesn’t know why Akane would be confused by  _him_  when it’s clearly the other way around.

He thinks about initiating something himself, even, by the time they’re making their way back through Death City to their shared apartment, but  _maybe he’s bored_ , some part of his mind whispers.  _Maybe he’s trying to be nice_ , the slightly more generous part offers,  _maybe he doesn’t want to lead you on now that he knows you’re confused_. That should be a comfort, however cold, but Clay’s skin is prickling with weird loneliness and unformed expectation, and he really kind of wants Akane to go  _back_  to confusing him if it takes the form of the meister’s mouth and hands on his skin. By the time Clay’s following Akane up the steps to their apartment, he’s doing a good job of confusing himself  _about_  the meister even without Akane’s direct help.

Clay’s just stepping into the apartment, absently kicking the door shut behind him, when Akane turns back to him. The weapon hesitates, expecting...something, a touch or a smirk or a suggestion, but Akane just holds out his hand and says “Give me your bag.”

Clay’s not sure if Akane’s using his meister-voice or not; either way he’s sliding the strap off his shoulder and offering the weight of the bag to the other boy before the possibility of refusal, or at least asking  _why_ , crosses his mind, and then Akane’s taking it from him and setting it carefully aside before dropping his own alongside the first and stepping forward unencumbered of the weight.

Clay can see where Akane is moving, but even knowing it’s coming he sighs in relief when the meister’s fingers settle against his waist through the fabric of his shirt. Akane takes another step in, so close that Clay would shy back if he weren’t fixed to the spot in a weird combination of panic and delight, close enough that the open edges of the meister’s jacket brush against Clay’s tie. Akane exhales carefully, his breath blowing warm over Clay’s skin, and Clay shivers and whimpers and then Akane’s fingers are moving, coming up to tug at his tie. For a moment the weapon thinks the meister is trying to pull him forward into a kiss via the loop, but he’s using both hands, that doesn’t make sense, and the fabric is sliding loose of Clay’s never-particularly-careful knot to fall in two stripes of dark over the front of his shirt.

“A--” Clay starts. The meister doesn’t look up. The buttons down the front of Clay’s shirt start falling open under his fingers. “A--kane?”

“Clay.” Clay’s never thought of his own name as being particularly  _sexy_ , really, but the way Akane draws it long and slow in his throat makes him flush up to the rapidly-descending border of his shirt.

“Wh--what are you doing?”

“What do you think I’m doing?”

It’s obvious, really, on the top level -- Akane’s  _undressing_  him, is what -- but the meister  _must_  mean more than that, what does that question even  _mean_? Clay’s focus sputters out in a whine of confusion, wordless and panicked even as those fingers keep going down.

Akane glances up through his hair, his teeth flash bright and sharp, and his fingers stop for a moment. “Come  _on_ , Clay.” He leans in, dips his head low; lips brush against Clay’s bare collarbone so the weapon gasps and jerks before he can withhold his reaction. “I thought you’d put two and two together and get the answer eventually, but apparently not.”

“Wh--at?” Clay’s head is going a little fuzzy. Akane’s fingers are dragging over his waist, skin-to-skin like he’s never felt before, and his nerves are sparking confused and pleased all over his body. “I don’t…”

“No, I know, you said.” Akane’s mouth is back on his skin, coming sideways now to the dip at his throat. “What about one and one, is that easy enough for you to follow?”

Clay laughs, although the sound comes out weird and gasping. “Akane, I have no idea what you’re talking about right now.”

Akane’s hands close around the half-open front of Clay’s shirt and the meister steps forward, leans in until his jacket brushes over Clay’s bare skin. “Step back, Clay.”

Clay does. Akane follows, keeps going until Clay’s up against the wall and Akane’s pressed up against his front in a perfect echo of their brief interlude earlier at the Academy.

“Clay.” Akane’s voice is level, oddly low when it’s stripped of his usual teasing lilt and warm on the weapon’s neck. “I’m sorry.”

“What?” Clay is repeating himself but he can’t think, can’t breathe, and Akanes never _done_  this in their own apartment before and he can’t figure out why he’s starting  _now_ , and what does arithmetic have to do with anything anyway?

Akane tips his head up so he’s meeting Clay’s eyes, and if there were anywhere for Clay to  _go_  he’d draw back at the focus in the meister’s blue gaze. He’s never seen Akane look so  _serious_  before.

“I’m sorry.” Akane swallows, glances away, looks back. Clay’s eyes catch and stick on the movement of his throat as he tries to speak; the motion is so distracting he almost doesn’t take in the words. “I’m serious. I’ve  _been_  serious, this whole time. I…” Another swallow. Laughter. “I thought you  _knew_ , if I had known…”

“I told you,” Clay point out, still transfixed by the movement of Akane’s throat.

“Yeah.” Akane pulls at his shirt, smiles in Clay’s peripheral vision. “You did. That’s why I’m telling you now.” He starts to lean in -- Clay lifts his head, expecting a kiss -- then pauses, swallows again. His fingers are still clenched on Clay’s shirt. “I  _want_  you. I want you and I want to be with you and I want to be your boyfriend and your lover and your partner, all of it.” He tugs at the cloth, laughs again; when Clay looks up at his eyes, Akane holds his gaze for only a moment before his focus skitter away again.

“Okay?” he says, voice shaking so badly Clay barely recognizes it. But he recognizes the hands on his shirt, the fading heat of Akane’s mouth on his skin, and when he reaches up, lifts his hands for the first time to reciprocate Akane’s touch, he recognizes the meister’s shiver even though he’s never seen or felt it before.

“Okay,” he tries to say, tries to lean in and breathe the word out against Akane’s mouth. What he  _does_  do is lean in, stall out, hesitate just shy of contact and pull back so he can see the meister’s eyes again.

“ _Really_?” he asks, voice cracking on the word like it hasn’t done in years, hands going panicked and startled against the meister’s coat. Akane blinks, laughs again before he can remember to swallow, nods before he can speak.

“Really, Clay.” There’s no trace of teasing in his voice, no hint of sarcasm in his face or his touch or his eyes, and when Clay leans in over the distance and closes the gap between their mouths, it turns out there’s no trace of it on his tongue either.


	4. Undone

Akane is getting the distinct impression that he’s lost his control over the situation.

Not that he needs to maintain control. Or that Clay has taken it, either. It’s just that somewhere between Akane’s horribly panicked declaration and Clay leaning in to initiate a kiss ( _for the first time_ , Akane’s careful brain documents,  _the first time_ he _kissed_ you) the control he has unthinkingly maintained over the weapon, over himself, over whatever they have between them sifted away, turned into sand and slid between his fingers, and now he’s back against the wall and his jacket is gone and Clay’s pulling at his tight-cinched tie.

Akane doesn’t even mind. His skin is flushing in waves of heat, his breathing is going fast and desperate in his lungs, and he’s still leaning in, arching up off the wall to press closer in against the weapon, crushing Clay’s fumbling fingers between them. The weapon’s shirt is open but still looped over his shoulders, his tie sliding sideways around his neck; when Akane grabs at it it slips free entirely and he has to drop it, reach out to get ahold of Clay’s open collar to pull the weapon in closer. Clay’s breathing just as hard as the meister is, maybe even harder, gasping for breath even while his mouth curves in a slow smile that Akane can’t keep his lips from. Then Akane’s shirt is coming open, he hadn’t even realized Clay was still working on that, and the weapon’s fingers come in hot over his skin and he gasps and shudders and can’t breathe at all for a moment.

Clay groans “ _Akane_ ,” moaning against the meister’s neck like the sound is pulled unwilling from his throat, and Akane shivers, drops Clay’s collar and just grabs at his neck instead to pull the blond in faster than he’s moving on his own. Clay follows the pull, half-topples forward so Akane falls against the support at his back and only saves himself from a more drastic collapse by his hold on the weapon’s neck.

“Take this off,” he manages, sliding one hand down sideways to push the weapon’s open shirt free of one shoulder. Clay twists his arm back so Akane can get the sleeve free, brings his hand back in to press up over the meister’s chest while he shakes his second hand free of the shirt and comes back all tanned shoulders and bare skin.

“You too,” he manages, hands sweeping down over Akane’s shoulders before the meister has time to protest even if he wanted to. He angles his arms back, wiggles his wrists free of the cuffs, and when he steps back there’s a burst of friction and heat and skin-on-skin that makes them both hiss in synchronized shock.

“Fuck,” Clay blurts, hands coming back to grab at Akane’s shoulders. “Come  _here_ ,” as if there’s anywhere else for the meister to go. He still comes, stumbling forward so when Clay steps back he inverts the movement, and after the second step he realizes where they’re going and moves towards the couch as quickly as Clay pulls him. There’s a shift when they get there, Akane curling around Clay and stepping over the arm of the furniture itself, and then Clay folds and Akane half-falls, and the weapon scrambles up over the arm and ends up on top of Akane, all the warm weight of his body pinning the other boy down against the softness of the cushions under him. It’s awkward and it’s too hot and it’s perfect, it’s all Akane’s ever wanted, and when he shifts and wiggles under Clay’s weight and their legs slot together it jolts into  _better_ , more than Akane ever even knew to wish for.

“Akane,” Clay groans, and rocks his hips forward in a movement too smooth to be anything but instinctive. He’s hard, Akane can feel it straight through both their clothes, and it’s not a  _surprise_ , when he thinks about it the meister is painfully hard too, but it  _is_  a surprise how clearly he can feel the pressure, in spite of the multiple layers between them, how  _hot_  Clay’s body is against his. He turns his head and Clay’s right there, his lips coming to catch warm and damp on Akane’s before he’s even properly identified what’s happening, as if ‘kissing Clay’ is the default status of his life and it is all other actions that require thought. Akane rocks up, not sure what exactly he’s seeking until he catches the friction of Clay’s thigh, pressure digging down more or less where the meister wants it, and even if it’s not the right kind it’s  _enough_ , or will be if Clay doesn’t move.

Clay  _is_  moving, though, which is a problem and a solution in itself. He’s grinding down against Akane’s hip, his movements taking on a deliberate rhythm that the meister recognizes in a sort of dazed way, and that means his leg is pushing into Akane’s own length through his pants with the same deliberate rhythm, which would be  _enough_  except that the pressure is off, just barely, by a half-inch or so. Akane starts wiggling, shifting to try to chase down that extra friction, that perfect angle, and even when he realizes what he’s trying to do he can’t entirely stop the desperate shift of his hips, trying to drag Clay’s leg sideways by sheer force of will.

“Clay,” he does manage to say, although it comes out breathy and desperate, and judging from the total lack of response from the weapon Clay doesn’t even hear him. “ _Clay_ , stop.”

The weapon stops moving immediately, like Akane’s words have flipped a switch; his head comes up, and when Akane can swallow and willpower his way back into visual focus Clay watching his face, wide-eyed and panicked. “What’s wrong?”

Akane tries to speak, but his cheeks are flushed and his throat wants to turn everything into a moan, and it takes a minute and a few deep breaths before he can trust himself. “I…” He laughs, shuts his eyes. It’s a little easier when he’s not looking at Clay’s face. “If we keep going I’m going to embarrass myself.”

“Wh--” Clay’s forehead creases in confusion and for a brief moment Akane is afraid he’s going to have to spell it out explicitly for him. Then Clay slides sideways, slipping a little closer to Akane, and either he notices the meister’s erection digging hard against his leg or something in the way Akane’s eyelids flicker and his throat works tips him off. “ _Oh_.” He looks down, shifts again, and he might be trying to pull away or deliberately grinding against the other boy, but if it’s the first he doesn’t have the right angle so all his movement does is bring Akane’s back arching involuntarily off the couch.

“ _Clay_ ,” Akane starts, strangled and desperate, and Clay leans in towards him, brushes his mouth clumsy and affectionate over the meister’s lower lip.

“You won’t,” he says, too quick, almost desperate. “Embarrass yourself. Or, I mean, you shouldn’t be embarrassed.” He takes a breath and it’s not until Akane hears the jagged edges to the inhale that he realizes Clay’s voice is shaking with heat. “I want you to.” A hand comes against Akane’s bare skin, just over the curve of his hip, and the meister twists up into that touch without any conscious effort, just pure instinct pulling him up for more. He whines, breathing turning into sound as his focus starts to dissolve into heat, and Clay’s mouth moves to his jawline, lips press warm into his skin. “ _Please_.”

Akane can’t breathe properly. Clay’s heavy on top of him, crushing air out of him just from the pressure, and his heart’s pounding so hard he’s feeling lightheaded and all his skin is prickling with sensation. He opens his mouth to respond, maybe to protest, probably to agree, and Clay shifts again, digs his leg up against Akane with too much accuracy to be inadvertant, and Akane’s thoughts drop out and his hips come up and he  _groans_ , almost a wail of pleasure as instinct entirely takes over his actions and he bucks up against Clay’s leg.

The weapon is laughing, warm and delighted against Akane’s cheek, and his fingers are sliding up over the meister’s skin and he’s pressing down, too, with less rhythm and less intention, but mostly he’s still, pinning Akane down to the couch and just letting the other boy grind against him. Akane is flushing with heat, some embarrassment but mostly just arousal, the friction of Clay’s thigh tingling all the way out to his fingertips and his mouth and up the arch of his spine, and his usual grace is entirely gone, shattered into awkward desperation, but Clay is still laughing and his hands are still sliding up Akane’s chest and down over his back. When he starts to move Akane grabs his hips, holds him perfectly still while the meister grinds up against him, and when Akane’s vision whites out into orgasm he doesn’t remember to blush until the aftershocks are trembling through him and he’s already groaned Clay’s name. Clay’s hand leaves his back, come down to stroke heat along Akane’s face, and Akane shudders and blushes and Clay laughs again, breathy and shocked this time, like Akane’s some amazing thing instead of a desperate teenager who just got off against his leg.

“You’re amazing,” he says aloud, as if to confirm Akane’s interpretation of his laugh. Akane has to smile at that, though he’s still flushed too hot to stand the idea of meeting Clay’s gaze. “Fuck, you’re…”

Akane reaches out to cover Clay’s mouth with his hand, although with his eyes shut he misses, hits his chin and has to slide his palm up to cut off the other’s words. “Shut up,” he manages, though it lacks any fire. “I’m trying to not die of self-consciousness here and you’re not helping.” He does open his eyes, then; Clay’s not talking, not even trying to talk, but Akane can feel him breathing hand over the meister’s palm and his eyes are wide and dilated almost black as he stares at the other boy.

“Fuck,” Akane says intelligibly. He angles his own knee up, presses his leg between Clay’s; he can feel the blond’s sharp intake of breath, can see the way Clay’s eyelashes flutter in response. “Can you come just from this?”

Clay’s trembling like electricity is running through him, but his forehead creases in concentration and he rocks himself against Akane experimentally, trying out the angle, before he shakes his head.

“I don’t think so,” he says against the meister’s hand. Akane drops it -- the first flush of embarrassment is faded, now, a little -- and grabs at Clay’s belt instead, not bothering with the buckle, just pushing his hand down past the waistband and inside the weapon’s slacks.

“Okay,” he says, nearly as breathless as Clay sounds. His fingers find the thin cloth of boxers, the sharp edge of hipbone, and then suddenly he hits hot hard skin through the barely-there cover of Clay’s boxers and the weapon shudders and half-falls on top of him. “What about this?”

“Hhhh,” Clay groans, and Akane has to laugh at the unfocused haze over his face and in his voice. The blond goes sideways, arms shaking and knee digging sharp into Akane’s waist, and then he’s got a hand free and is pulling desperately at the buckle of his belt. Akane doesn’t help him, too enraptured with the way Clay’s eyelashes shiver every time he curls his fingers for minimal contact against the weapon’s length, and then the belt comes free, there’s a scrape of a zipper opening just under Akane’s wrist, and Clay drops against the back of the couch so Akane can push in against him with the whole of his palm.

Clay shudders, smiles open-mouthed and hazy. His hands come up against Akane’s shoulders, slide up and around the back of the meister’s neck; Akane can see him trembling, the shiver of his breathing through the tense lines of his chest, can shift his wrist and the pressure of his hand in response to those reactionary movements rather than watching Clay’s face or listening to his words, which have mostly dissolved into Akane’s name at this point anyway. Clay falls back farther with every movement of the meister’s hand, so by the time he’s entirely incoherent Akane’s more on top of him than the other way around, holding him down and steady with a hand on his shoulder and sliding his other hand up in the steady rhythm that is pulling the weapon to pieces fastest.

Clay drops back to the cushions, shudders himself into a smile, and Akane  _knows_  even before the weapon opens his eyes and clutches in desperate encouragement at the meister’s wrist.

“Akane --” he starts. Akane smiles, presses down a little harder and slides his thumb over Clay’s shoulder, says, “I’m here, Clay,” and the weapon jerks up against his palm and comes, the layer of fabric between Akane’s skin and his own going damp and sticky.

Self-awareness comes back before Akane’s moved his hand, awareness of the sweat clinging to his shoulders and the mess he’s made of his own pants, the fact that he’s got his  _hand_  pressed up against Clay’s  _cock_  and they’re both still breathing hard and shivery from their respective orgasms. Akane can feel the self-conscious flush start halfway down his chest, climb up over his shoulders and neck to encompass his ears and cheeks, rising all the way up to his hairline. Clay blinks his eyes open, stares at the reddening meister blankly for a moment, then starts to laugh, although his cheeks are staining dark in response and the laughter in his throat is a little tight. Still, it helps, Akane’s tension cracking into amusement, and when Clay pulls him down he shifts his hands and collapses down over the other boy’s frame.

“You’re a mess,” Akane observes, his face pressed in against the warm skin of Clay’s shoulder and his hands sliding up against the weapon’s waist.

“Ah.” Akane can feel Clay blush better than he can see it. “Well. You. It  _is_  your fault. And besides you don’t have much room to criticize.”

“Not criticizing,” Akane mumbles. “Just commenting.” He wiggles, makes a face at the sticky catch of cloth on his skin. “That is really unpleasant, though. I’m going to clean up.”

“Come back?” Clay asks plaintively, although he lets his hold on Akane go so the meister can get up off the couch.

“Clay,” Akane says levelly. “I live with you.” He sits up, grins down at Clay’s wide eyes. “Go and change, I’ll meet you back out here in ten minutes. It’s a date, okay?”

Clay blushes and bites his lip, but he’s grinning in spite of his embarrassed flush, and when Akane leans down to kiss him he pushes up onto his elbows to meet the meister more than halfway.


End file.
